His Girl Friday The 13th

We’ll lick off the salt
dusted on our shoulders,
and dance on top of
cracks in the floor
(Our mothers are used to us
stepping all over their backs,
anyway).

Fuck me in the darkness
cast by an umbrella
held open indoors:
Let us become so close together
that not even lamplight
can get between us
Illumination,
in every sense of the word,
would be a third wheel.

Let’s smash all the mirrors
so that we can only see ourselves
reflected in each other’s eyes.
That’s got to be worth 7,
14,
21,
28,
35
years of bad luck.

I wouldn’t mind a few cursed decades
spent with you.
We could get a black cat
and name him Macbeth.
That’d be nice.